Nebraska retrospective part 3 (McCook)

Some of McCook's bricked streets. A lot of Nebraska towns have these. I took all the pictures for this post.

McCook, Nebraska, was where I attended college (the first time) for two semesters in 1996-97. It has a little community college which my high school guidance counselor suggested I apply for an academic full-ride scholarship to attend. The classes were cheap as hell, so I could have attended anyway, but it was nice to have everything paid. McCook Community College is part of the Midplains Community College system. At least, it was back then. This town was the first stop on my retrospective.

A lot happened in the short time I lived in this town. After two semesters, I saw my bravado reduced by a personal crisis to a complete lack of self-esteem. When my parents announced they were moving to another state, I decided to hitch a ride with them out of Nebraska as opposed to trying to figure out what the hell I was going through. This was a crucial decision, a decision in hindsight I botched. I should have gotten my associate's degree, at the very least, and I could have stayed in Nebraska, continuing my education at another school such as the state college in Kearney. I was a very bright student and should have applied myself to something which benefited society and gave me a brighter future.

McCook Community College resting up a bit during the summer. Renovations taking place in the library (with the water tower directly in the background), I noticed.

When I pulled into town, I immediately went to the college, since this was my reason for living in this town more than 20 years ago. Let me say this. I was not prepared for the way things came back to me. I found myself on the verge of tears within minutes. I walked around town for a good hour or more. This did more to bring things back than driving around, as the smells, the sounds, and even the cracks in the sidewalks were immersive.

It was sensory overload. I walked from the college to where I lived, which was a basement apartment at Frederick Apartments. I hit the bricked part of town (which probably has a real swanky name like The Bricks or The Rumblestreets or Look How We're Keeping It Real or Retaining History, One Brick At A Time or something). And then I walked back to my car at the campus. Even though I had not been in this town for more than 20 years, navigating the streets was easy and came back to me quickly. After I checked into my hotel, I went for a run at the high school track, where I often blew off excess energy in the old days. I remember young girls hanging out there, saying hi, trying to catch my attention. They were too young, but here again the theme of real girls versus fake surfaces. I wasn't interested. 

My old apartment building, as drab and depressing as ever. My next-door neighbor and I removed a couch from one of the upstairs units for the lady who ran the place. We assumed someone died on it.

When I moved to McCook, I was completely without any kind of communication with the outside. I was cut off from my family, friends, everyone, all at once. When I got phone service about a week later, I used it. A lot. It took two weeks for my internet to be connected. I didn't know what to do. I was without any sort of support or structure. It was so hot I had to take multiple cold showers every day. Sleeping was hard. I had random bloody noses. Sometimes I was just sitting still and blood would come out like someone turned on a faucet. I was in crisis. So, too, was I in crisis when I pulled into town this time. 

I was praying on my way because my phone decided to not connect to Tracfone's network (which covers most of the state of Nebraska) since around Chadron, many miles ago. I had decided to use my phone to navigate to my various hotels and for the tricky parts of the drive (of which there really weren't any). Here I was again, cut off from the world. I had not intended my retrospective to hew so closely to my original stay in McCook. I figured God wanted to talk to me as I went through this experience. Oh, my soul cried out for someone else to take this journey with me. I guess that's you, dear reader, but you weren't there when I needed you. You're reading this after the fact. 

What happened to me in McCook is key to the destructive path I took later. I could not stand the social isolation here. I was pretty sure the girl I wanted to marry was Cindy. But our relationship ended while I lived here. She stopped talking to me in March of 1997. I met Kate in May. Cindy contacted me before I moved out of state in July or August, saying she would miss me and loved me. My reaction to her letter still breaks my heart. In fact, I'm crying as I write this. I threw it away. Oh, the whole situation was so tragic. All I wanted was to feel love, and I went to the wrong people for it.  

It was on this visit I realized my throwing away her letter in anger like that was because I felt completely rejected by her. I was a jerk. But my extreme reaction was brought about because I had feelings for her, feelings which I felt she squashed months earlier. For this, I have repented for more than 20 years. It was an ugly thing to do, but now I know why I did it, at least. I simply felt very hurt.

I used to blow off steam at the high school track, home of the Bison.

The feelings that came back to me in McCook were loneliness, hopelessness, a kind of sensory deprivation, frustration, sadness, rejection, and oh boy, there are so many. I asked God to help me through this process. I'm not sure why I took my first vacation in a year and a half to do this. I guess it had to be done. 

This is where I realized I needed people. There is a photo of me and my family on the day I moved into my apartment. I am smiling, but it is a hollow smile. I was immensely sad. There were two girls from my high school graduating class who attended this school. We did hang out a bit. I did go to Christian student association meetings (forgive me, I forget the name) and tried to socialize. I got invited to parties, but I didn't want to drink so didn't see the point. I hung out with my next-door neighbor a lot. He was 21, so went to the local strip club and drank beer and not much else. He was the kicker for the football team. I remember my biology teacher making fun of him for something stupid he did (we were not in the same class), so told him about that. He got a kick out of that. We ate pizza and drank beer (Red Dog, remember that?). He used my internet sometimes. He told me about when he met some girl in another state on chat and went to see her. He spent like a week there fucking her, had some car trouble, and then came home. Me, I just talked to girls on chat. I did invite several girls to my apartment and I recall saying hi to girls in the hallways at school but was ignored. They were probably creeped out. But, really, the girl I wanted to talk to was Cindy. Every time the phone rang, I hoped it was her.

My apartment was down the steps and then straight ahead. There are two apartments down there and laundry machines.

I slid into a deep depression in McCook. My life got really dark. I felt like life was so pointless. I mean, I moved to fucking Ohio just to have a friend. Holy shit, man. There is a part of me that is still so confused by Cindy's silence all those years ago. I don't recall her giving me a reason, but she must have. And I'm angry with myself because when she gave me one last try, I said no thanks. If I had just reached out to her one last time, everything could have been cleared up. It could have changed the whole trajectory of my life. Instead, I chose the path of anger and unforgiveness.

The great mystery is why did Mr. Independent crack? Why did he uproot and get the eff out of Nebraska and go live in Ohio (which really isn't that different from Nebraska)? The girl wasn't that compelling. She was fun to talk to. But why her and why Ohio? I guess it was the absence of anything else. And I knew I could at least talk to her, which makes me wonder if my love language is actually having someone listen to me (so it makes sense I blog my thoughts and feelings). I realized I needed people in my life. It came back to me on this trip and was reinforced by my phone not working. I couldn't talk to anyone even if I wanted to.

The most pervasive feeling I had walking around this town was wanting to talk to Cindy. I wanted it so effing bad. I wanted to tell her I loved her and I was so sorry for being a fool all those years ago, but I've already told her those things. She was always my number-one choice. When it felt like she rejected me, my world turned dark. I clearly had feelings for her. I wanted to be with her and told her as much, but too late. But, you know what, she is still my number-one choice. In fact, just being in the same state as her was unbearable. How was I going to keep my retrospective going in the shadow of my feelings for this girl? Not only that, but I realized if I end up with some other girl (and I have stopped talking on dating sites since our last conversation for this very reason), I will just be sad about that, and who wants to be with a guy who is sad because he's with her and not the one he loves? The only reason I got on dating sites to begin with was to get over her. But that has proven to be a pointless exercise. If anything, it has made my feelings for her deepen.

I don't know what this building is, but I'm sure I went in it. To the left and out of view is the art building where I spent most of my time. I think there used to be a tree in the foreground. Or nuclear waste is buried there.

Love is a mysterious thing. I can expound on all the reasons why I love her, but it will never communicate what I feel and know in my heart. It's like she was created for me and I for her. There's just a lack of good words for this. She's undeniably my all-time favorite girl.

Anyway, I shouldn't have been going to school with all of this in my head. At one point, I stopped going to classes but still got good grades. I was super depressed. I said I was sick. Sure, Joshua. No one bought that. I was an art student. I remember someone stole my paintbrushes (really good ones), and I didn't really care. I made it through two semesters and moved back in with my parents who sold all my furniture. Then we moved out of state, and from there I moved to Ohio.

My classes depressed me, too. One of my art professors was a professional painter. I mean, he was ridiculously good. I hated painting. I painted once before taking his classes. He said I was good but a little slow. Well, yeah, because I had only painted once in high school! I looked longingly at the two Macs in his office and wondered when I'd be able to use them to make some real art. And my other art professor said the copy machine was an artist's best friend and most useful tool. Really? I mean, this was 1996 or 1997, but still. She took us to great places like a print shop and a newspaper office, and both bored the shit out of me because that's what I had been around since I was a baby. I wanted to do real art on computers. This other stuff was the past. I wanted the future. 

Apparently, it's McCook Community College's 90th birthday.

McCook was my first stop in Nebraska. After that first day, I wasn't sure why I was doing this. It was brutal. The memories were like an avalanche, and I was buried. Why did I want to spend my vacation like this? I don't know, but something told me what happened here is at the very heart of what is eating at me at this very moment. I am the same man, more or less, as I was back then. The strangeness with my phone not connecting to the network the day I visited and the sensory deprivation I experienced all those years ago with no phone and no internet was a parallel I didn't have to draw. It was the same feeling. I felt utterly alone. And there were exactly two people I wanted to talk to. Two. Three, if you count God, but I can talk to Him anytime. And on this trip, I did a lot of talking to God.

All those years ago, I reached out to a girl. She was the only girl from my past I reached out to. I missed having her in my life. I felt a void with her gone. I missed her for 20 years, and at this moment I miss her now. Yes, she is one of those people I wanted to talk to the day I visited McCook. I felt it strongly. It was more powerful than I have ever felt it. And I know it was this place speaking to me. It was me connecting with what I felt back then. But I didn't know how to say it back then. So I'm saying it now. Only 20-some years late. By the way, the other person I wanted to talk to was my son. 

I used to buy all of this bakery's danishes. The girl behind the counter was always exasperated when I came in. One of my professors co-owned the bakery. I should have bought some danishes for old time's sake.

Before I sum up, I want to write about a funny thing that happened while I lived in McCook. Somehow I got interested in Rastafarianism, which places great importance on marijuana. Well, in Nebraska, you could find marijuana growing everywhere. It was called "ditch weed." It was often a hybrid of the good stuff (full of THC, which gets you high) and hemp, which has no THC. Hemp was cultivated in the state long ago, and maybe it has come back into use, I don't know. But the stuff growing in the ditches is normally pretty low on THC. I just remember driving back to school one weekend and seeing a bunch of it and for some reason I plucked one big plant out of the ground and put it in the trunk of my little Honda. And drove around with it like that. I didn't know what to do with it. THC is found in the buds of the flowering part of the plant, but I didn't know that. I took some leaves and put them in paper and smoked it in some bushes in a park by campus. All it did was give me a headache and a funny (though mortifying) story. That was my first time "using" marijuana. As I walked the same sidewalks I did back then, I recall some little kids I would play with on my walks home. They always wanted me to play with them, and I almost always obliged, at least for a few minutes. I recall the time I wanted to go smoke the weed I had and they stopped me that day, but I hurried along and didn't want to play that day. Hunkered in the bushes by the park, I'm sure I felt bad about that.

I don't know how to make my eight months or whatever I spent in this town make sense all these years later. I wish I hadn't cracked. I wish I hadn't fallen apart. I wish I had done it differently. Looking back, it was a far more crucial time than I realized. Mostly, I miss the girl I could have had. And perhaps should have had. I didn't trust the obvious plan God had for a woman in my life and found my own, which was a disaster that would consume half my life. I mean, the girl meant for me was right there the whole time. It could not have been plainer or simpler to choose her. Yet somehow I did not.

Driving out of town, I wondered how I was going to find where I was going, as my data still didn't work. But when I drove into McCook the first day after praying to find my hotel, I pulled up to the first stoplight and looked off to my left about 100 yards to see my hotel. This whole trip, it seemed like I was just along for the ride. God was in charge and wanted to show me something. I certainly saw it in this town.